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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530758">Painting by Numbers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagining_in_the_Margins/pseuds/Imagining_in_the_Margins'>Imagining_in_the_Margins</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Love, Overprotective, Pregnancy, Self-Insert, Tooth-Rotting Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:47:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,895</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530758</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagining_in_the_Margins/pseuds/Imagining_in_the_Margins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer is still a little worried about his pregnant wife painting the house.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Spencer Reid/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>149</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Painting by Numbers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was something relaxing about painting. As much hard labor as it was to tape, prime, and paint a room, I never grew tired of it. I’d have changed the color of my childhood bedroom a hundred times if I could have.</p><p>That being said, it was a <em>lot </em>harder when you were nearly six months pregnant.</p><p>I tried not to let myself get too focused on the ache in every inch of my body. Instead, I focused on how the lavender smeared over the white primer. The color alone sent butterflies through my stomach, a smile spreading across my face at the first line on a new wall.</p><p>“Someone has been busy while I’ve been gone…”</p><p>Spencer’s voice shook me from my reverie, and I jumped with a shout as I dropped the roller that I was holding. “You weren’t supposed to be home yet!” I quickly explained, leaving the roller on the plastic lining below me. I couldn’t pick it up even if I wanted to right now.</p><p>My husband carefully navigated the buckets of paint, making his way over to me and picking up the roller.</p><p>“And you aren’t supposed to be painting by yourself.” He chastised, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead before handing me back the tool I’d been using.</p><p>“I stayed ground level!” I pointed out with a wave of my hand to demonstrate what I meant. About halfway up the wall, the paint had abruptly stopped. Cocking my hip to the side, I proudly proclaimed, “There’s not even a ladder in here.”</p><p>The sneaky smile on his face told me I wasn’t out of the doghouse yet. He nodded, noting the absence of ladders and the very obvious cutoff where my arms could no longer reach.</p><p>“Hmmm.” He hummed, reaching for a clean roller on one of the chairs in the middle of the room. “I also see a very interesting color on our walls…” </p><p>There it was. We’d spent <em>hours</em> talking about what color to paint the nursery. After the conversation ended, we hadn’t actually made a final decision. Spencer had gotten whisked away to work and I was just sitting at home bored, so I’d made an executive decision. It just happened to also be one he’d argued against a few days prior. Oops?</p><p>“Okay, I know you said babies can’t really see colors for the first five months but— get this.” I started, waving the still wet roller around. I was already practically covered in paint, so it was pointless to even bother trying to stop the few speckles that shook off.</p><p>“They said that cool tones like purples can both energize and calm the baby. It’s the best of both worlds, right? It’ll lower their blood pressure and heart rate, and it’s supposed to even help them sleep! Plus, it’s gender neutral <em>and</em> it’s your <em>favorite</em> color.”</p><p>Spencer had patiently waited until I finished my mini rant, a strange pride in his eyes at the way I’d taken on his mannerisms. “Oh really? My favorite?”</p><p>He said it sarcastically, but then he actually took a minute to stare into the bucket beside him. His eyebrows furrowed and his mouth puckered up like they always did when he was trying to recall a memory.</p><p>“Is this…?” He didn’t need to finish the question. I’d already been caught.</p><p>“… Alright, fine. I took your shirt to the store when I mixed the paint.”</p><p>It sounded so silly when I said it, and Spencer clearly agreed, because he broke out into a full, lighthearted laughter. “What? Seriously?” He asked through the chuckles, “<em>Why</em>?”</p><p>A blush bloomed over my cheeks, and I hoped that the paint smeared over my face might cool the pink hue enough to hide my embarrassment. Spencer had dipped the roller in the paint, starting to work beside me while he waited for my answer.</p><p>“I just… I also kind of thought that it’d be nice since you have so many clothes this color and…” I mumbled, trying to hide the words, “it’s stupid, forget it.”</p><p>He seemed a little concerned, but mostly curious. “No, tell me.” It was still a request, although worded like a demand.</p><p>I kept my eyes affixed on the wall in front of me, enjoying the catharsis that came with covering any hint of white behind a wall of cool toned colors. Whether it was some psychological phenomenon or just a result of my husband’s comforting voice, I quickly built up the courage to finish my train of thought.</p><p>“I thought it might be nice for when you’re away, you know? Like they’re surrounded by the color they see you wearing the most…” I trailed off, my mind drifting off to thoughts of the coming future.</p><p>I could see it so clearly in my mind. Spencer, curled up on the rocking chair in the nursery on those nights where he would come home past midnight. The image was so vivid and bright, with a tiny hand holding tightly to his finger. But he would be the one wrapped around the finger of an eight pound human.</p><p>A shaky breath beside me brought me back to the current reality, and I turned to see tears already streaking down his cheeks.</p><p>“Ah! Please don’t cry!” I yelled, putting down the roller and waddling over to grab his hand. I should have known better than to bring up the fact he’d miss so much time that his child might need help to remember to think of him. I shouldn’t have brought it up at all.</p><p>“I didn’t mean to—” I started, but he cut me off before I could get too far.  </p><p>“I don’t think that’s stupid.” He used the back of his free hand to wipe away the tears, even though more continued to fall. He bent down to give me a quick but passionate kiss, caressing my face while his thumb grazed over dried paint marks on my cheeks.</p><p>“I missed you so much.” He muttered, bringing our connected hands up to rest on the large bump resting between the two of us. “I missed them, too.”</p><p>We stayed just like that for a long while, listening to the soft sounds of the city. Spencer’s hands roamed over my belly, a clear warmth in each motion. But then his eyes lifted, his nose twitching from the strong scent of paint covering the walls, floor, and myself.</p><p>“You kept this area well ventilated, right?”</p><p>Ah, I thought, there was the romantic I knew and loved. I glared at him before motioning around the room once again. For all his brains, he seemed unable to accept the very obvious answer.</p><p>“Spencer there are two fans on and the window is open <em>in June</em>.” He kept staring, and so I continued in an even more exasperated tone, “It’s <em>ninety five degrees </em>outside. And I’m <em>pregnant</em>.”</p><p>“Got it.” He said with a nervous chuckle, recognizing that he was being just a little bit overprotective. That realization lasted a good thirty seconds before he glanced down at the unfamiliar label on the bucket. “And you checked the ingredients in the paint?”</p><p>I sighed, dipping the roller while I spoke with a sickly sweet sarcasm, “Ah, yes. Only 100% lead and asbestos for our offspring.”</p><p>When he didn’t answer, I looked up to find one of my favorites of the many faces of Spencer Reid. His bottom lip stuck out in an overdramatic pout, his golden-brown eyes looking absolutely <em>pathetic</em>.</p><p>“You worry too much, dear.” I said with a real smile this time, gathering paint on my nail and flicking it in his direction.</p><p>He nearly tripped over the chair behind him when he jumped out of the way of the purple liquid that came nowhere near him. I laughed at his complete lack of coordination before turning back to the wall.</p><p>“Worry less and paint more!” I demanded.</p><p>And luckily, Spencer took pity in the fact that I’d basically finished two thirds of the room by myself while he’d been traveling. I found that painting could be fun, even when I was six months pregnant. I just needed the right person to do it with.</p><p>The time passed quickly, and soon enough the sun was setting and the temperature was reaching manageable levels again. Spencer took a seat on one of the chairs, dropping his head back and letting his arms fall to the side.</p><p>I laughed, greatly aware of the fact that I still had better upper body strength than the goddamn FBI agent. With both hands on my stomach, I leaned against the windowsill to breathe in the fresh air.</p><p>“God, I’m so ready to not be pregnant anymore.” I groaned, my back aching from the weight.</p><p>“You realize you’ll have a baby then?”</p><p>Slowly turning to the man who clearly had a death wish, I grinned. “Yeah, but then I can just hand them to you.”</p><p>With a shy smile, he lifted his arms to make grabbing motions with his hands in my direction. “Bring them to me now.”</p><p>It was such a cute display that I had to comply, making my way over the crinkly plastic until Spencer could reach me. He wrapped his arms around my waist, his face resting against the bump.</p><p>I didn’t complain about the added weight, running a hand through his hair and just being grateful that I had a husband who clearly loved us so much.</p><p>“I’m sorry I changed the color without asking you.”</p><p>Spencer lifted his head to look up at me with a tender expression before he pressed a kiss against the dirty jumper covering my bump.</p><p>“I don’t care what color the room is.” He said quietly, the truth evident in his voice, “All that matters to me is that you’re safe and happy. Everything else is secondary.”</p><p>In a desperate attempt not to cry, I shifted to sit down in the chair next to him. We both scooted over so that we could be closer, his arm wrapping around my shoulder and my head falling against his.</p><p>We stared at the now lavender wall in front of us, picturing what it would look like in three months’ time. Soon the crib would be ready, and then even sooner after it would be filled.</p><p>“Hey Spencer?”</p><p>“Yeah?” He responded, already on the verge of falling asleep in the horribly uncomfortable plastic folding chair.</p><p>“I kind of hate it.”</p><p>He burst out laughing, pulling me closer and kissing my temple to try and offer some sympathy. We were both so utterly exhausted. It was that level of tired where even the most mundane thing seemed hysterical.</p><p>“I <em>knew</em> you would!” He bragged, ignoring the pout on my face.</p><p>Scrunching up my face with a devious smirk, I turned to whisper in his ear. “Do you think we can trick the team into doing most of the repaint by promising them pizza and baby pictures?”</p><p>Spencer thought about it for a second, his eyebrows raising before nodding in approval. “And they call <em>me</em> a genius…”</p><p>“I’ll call them tomorrow.” I said, patting him on the leg. “Although, I kind of have a feeling our nursery is going to be rainbow colored if we let Penelope come.”</p><p>He chuckled nervously, shaking his head tiredly. “Whatever makes you happy.” He promised. “Everything else is secondary.”</p>
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